The day that David Lorne and his family moved into number 22 on Bluefield Drive was a rainy one. That particular day had been just an ordinary, in the Bluefield Drive standards, that is. No one had ever expected, nor suspected even, that the house known as “Number 22” would once again be inhabitated. It had been empty for some time now, perhaps for the last three years or so. Of course that was if eighteen-year old Aidan Maxwell’s memory served him right. Had it been that long? Aidan wondered. He closed his eyes as he attempted to recall every detail about the event. He considered it to be important—at least, for his own sake. Aidan thought about the new family, the home known as “Number 22”, the new attitude towards the Lorne family, and…of course, David Lorne. How could he forget him?
Bluefield Drive was what you could call the typical suburban neighborhood. The local children would play out in the street, the mothers would watch by looking out their kitchen windows or by sitting out front on the porch. In either case, the children were always under the watchful eye of a protective mother. Each family lived in respectable middle-class homes with the parents having to go to work in the big city, which was a half hour’s drive north of Hazel Creek. Each house was not that much different from the others around it. They were all freshly painted with the lawns trimmed neatly and efficiently. On each front door, however, were numbers declaring to the cheerful postman which house it was.
At number 22, the house was looking a little down. After being empty for approximately thre years, it was about time that it was inhabited by a new family.
Charitable neighbors had taken care of the lawn and the outside, as well as maintaining the inside of the house. Some believe that it was just a compilation of one good deed after another. Others, on the other hand, thought it was just the acts of neighbors conscious of the affect the empty house would have on their house values if unattended to. Thus, the home had been taken cared of for the past three years in the hopes that someone would move in and take the responsibility off of their shoulders.
How the neighborhood cheered when a rumor began to spread that the house agent was interesting a family to move and live in it. The rumor spread like wild fire and soon it got so out of control that people in the neighborhood began to fear that now their hopes would be dashed if the deal fell through. So everyone waited…and waited…
There was no response for several weeks. And the–
The entire neighborhood watched with eager anticipation as an old brown Ford car approached Number 22 and stopped. The car parked but no one stepped out of the car for a long time. Suddenly, the driver’s door flew open and the house agent stepped out of his little car with a mirthful smile. He walked unto the lawn of the home and approached the “For Sale” sign sticking up out of the grass. With a quick tug and some hearty pulls, the “For Sale” came flying out of the pop with a ‘pop’, sending the house agent falling flat on his back. The sign went flying and nearly hit his car. By that time, the telephones on Bluefield Drive were all abuzz with red-hot gossip, formations of conspiracies, and of the exchanging of conjectures as to who was moving into the house.
Some men even stepped out of their homes to congratulate the local house agent as he stepped back into his brown Ford car. They gave him a slap on the back while saying such things as “Well done!” or “Finally!”. Amongst the excited confusion of the neighborhood, people talked and talked.
Who was this new family? What are they like? Will they have any children with them? So many questions were asked and only a few were actually answered. But many people were not satisfied enough with the simple answers. They wanted to know more about this family. After all, they were moving into the neighborhood and they would have to meet them—eventually…